It's like this
by SweetG
Summary: Erica will stretch like a feline, put her hands right on the center of Allison's back and push a bit, so Allison will stop pretending to sleep and just hug her, bury her face in Erica's huge hair (it's always huge in the mornings, all over the place. Her bedhead is the stuff of legends) and mumble good morning. "Good morning." She'll answer then, voice raspy.


Erica will stretch like a feline, put her hands right on the center of Allison's back and push a bit, so Allison will stop pretending to sleep and just hug her, bury her face in Erica's huge hair (it's always huge in the mornings, all over the place. Her bedhead is the stuff of legends) and mumble good morning.

Erica'll practically purr, mold herself until Allison's height and body and her entire being can cover her complete and make her feel secure and embraced. She's not much of a sentimental fool these days, but Allison in the mornings will always bring it out in her.

"Good morning," she'll answer then, voice raspy; then she'll press a lingering kiss Allison's neck and next one to her breastbone and-

"Nope." Allison will chirp, jabbing her long and delicate fingers on her ribs, right where it tickles. "We have things to do, and we can't stay in bed."

And Erica will groan, as Allison unfolds herself and gets out of bed.

Breakfast will be a blur, as every single day with the exception of a few Sundays here and there, because they are always busy women; Erica is on her way to getting a Ph.D, and Allison's taken over the family's façade of a business and made it legitimate; bows and guns and ammo are not Erica's thing but they've always been Allison's.

They'll kiss chastely, the flavor of Erica's dark, bitter coffee lingering on Allison's lips, and she'll lick them all morning, even hours after the faintest taste is gone, just to remind herself through a bunch of calls from entitled men who'll try to best her all the time simply because they are men (she'll rub her temples and bite back a few uncharitable words). It'll remind her that Erica will be home with a few take out menus and a wide smile of lips painted in deep red.

They will eat dinner on the couch, this once, half watching a movie. But it will be full of tidbits of their days, and things like the last conversation over texts that Allison had with Lydia, and the article about her latest achievement on the field of whatever that Erica bookmarked for her. And: 'Scott called today, he said that we better make it to Beacon Hills this Christmas', which will probably make Erica make a few faces because it's been years but she still gets weird around Scott, doesn't know whether to pat him on the back and say, 'sorry I stole your girl' ("Which you didn't, since I chose you and I'm not an object.") or smirk at him, all her white teeth on display, and delicate but strong hands seeking Allison, enclosing gently around her arm where he can see them, just to remind him what's what.

("You think you'll ever outgrow your possessiveness?" Allison asks her every single time Scott comes up in their conversations, eyebrows set in a little frown, mouth a little pinched.

Erica will shrug and seek Allison's hand, entwine their fingers.

Then one day down the line she'll confess to all her insecurities, to the way nobody ever chose her, before the bite; to how once she'd started having the- how after that everything was even worse and not even her body ever felt like her own.

There'll be tears and Allison will share a few stories of her own, will tell her about her own fights, about feeling helpless and growing up to soon and losing so much.

The next morning they'll look into each other's eyes and kiss deep and slow, all soft yielding lips and hands on faces. And then they'll start looking into getting therapy.)

Or, "Stiles sent an email, he's freaking out about you-know-what." Which will make Allison smile wide and beautiful, dimples in display; one thing they always had in common was this sort of fondness for Stiles' brand of odd. She'll take a bite from her pizza, chew it just a few times before swallowing, and ask, "how do you think it's gonna go?"

Erica will snort, look for a paper napkin and dab at a grease stain just an inch over her upper lip, will say, "Derek's fucking crazy about him, babe. If this somehow goes wrong I'm personally going to kick them in the junk and blow some serious shit up."

And then they'll talk about new friends they've met since leaving Beacon Hills; about Erica's study group and how it's filled with way too much drama, and how it's all so beneath her (which will make Allison roll her eyes and remind her that they once tried to have an epic showdown on chemistry class that included claws on her thigh under their desk and the phrase "I'm a little psychic."); and about this one client Allison has that is the absolute worst and makes Allison question her life choices at least once every two weeks.

("I could pay him a little visit." Erica will suggest, fangs elongating a little over her glass of Diet Coke.

"No," Allison will reply with a stern voice that won't match her bright eyes, "we aren't teenagers anymore. And stop that, you'll scratch the glass."

"Pity." Will be Erica's answer to that, eyes crinkled and teeth going back to normal. Her hand will find Allison's, over an ugly monstrosity of a pillow that Isaac bought them as a housewarming present.)

Then, after they've eaten and talked through the entire movie and credits and the endless loop of the main menu for an insane amount of time they'll clean up after themselves because neither like to go to bed if the house is not at least _moderately_ tidy. They'll play rock-paper-scissors to choose who does the dishes (they try having a schedule, having a weekly chart of assigned chores, but they both suck at keeping up with it). And because it's them, it'll devolve into some sort of competition to see who can read the other better, which will devolve into self-satisfied smirks and accusations of cheating (from both parties); and that will finally conclude with them doing the dishes together.

Allison will blow soap suds at Erica and Erica will retaliate by flicking wet fingers onto Allison's face.

(It'll probably take them a while to get their dishes done. Even though there's four things total from their dinner and their mugs, two spoons and a knife left from breakfast.)

After that they'll do their night time routines; Erica will go to bed with the newest issue of something DC related (her New 52 comics are everywhere, it's not even a joke; Allison keeps finding them in the bathroom, on the kitchen table, buried under the couch's pillows, on both their cars. _Every-fucking-where._) and bite her left thumb nail (a habit that only shows there, where Erica lets her guard down, lets herself be at her most vulnerable, on their bed).

Allison will do a light workout, will work the tension out from her muscles and focus on her breathing and leave her mind blank for a few minutes to detox from the day's stress.

Some days that'll be it, because they really aren't teens anymore. But other days they'll kiss good night and one of them won't ease up, will put intent behind their lips and pry the other one open.

Sometimes Erica will curve one of her hands over Allison's chest, will feel the thrum of her heart under her fingertips and will drag her fingers down to her stomach and caress there before slipping her hand under Allison's shirt and up and up until she can cup her hand right over one of Allison's soft breasts, mouth parting from Allison's to tease her right nipple through soft cotton. Rubbing her lips on it until it's hard, resting the tip of her tongue on it, and then the flat of it until the shirt is wet with her drool. Will suck on it through the material until Allison's nails dig into her back.

Sometimes Allison will pant inside a heated kiss and stop to seize Erica's plump lower lip between her teeth and then latch her parted lips onto Erica's neck, right where it meets her shoulder and she will work there industriously, sucking and licking and _biting_ until Erica is nothing but a trembling, moaning mess, hands on her waist, gripping tight enough that there'll be angry marks the following day.

Some nights Erica will take her time eating Allison out, getting lost in her scent, enjoying the way her taste will coat her mouth, the way she always can taste _everything_ in her. Will tease her nub, until Allison's sweaty thighs try to close, and then she'll hold them apart using her superior strength and dig inside, flick her tongue in and in until her nose bumps against Allison too, and she'll just let herself be there a little, still, until Allison hisses at her, tugging at her hair. And then she'll get her tongue out and laugh a little, meet Allison's eyes and just breath insanely close to where Allison wants her. Some days she's feeling vindictive and blows cold air there, watches Allison shudder. Most days she goes back to it, doing circles and kittenish licks and using her lips and sometimes one or two of her fingers.

Other nights it will be Allison winding Erica up and up and up until she claws throw a pillowcase or one of their bedsheets (they go through those at an insane rate, really) and swears and promises that if Allison keeps this up any longer she'll fucking- _do_ something. And Allison will smile, all sweet and innocent and _Erica can see right though that, okay,_ and then she'll be all over Erica, will get fingers inside her mouth and squeeze her breasts with her long fingers and will put both hands on her thighs and raise her hips a little from the bed and eat her like dessert until Erica comes with the force of a tidal wave, all over Allison's mouth and chin and nose.

Some nights they use toys.

Some nights after they're done, they shower. Sometimes Erica convinces Allison to sleep just like that, all filthy and smelling like sex and each other (Allison will wrinkle her nose but give in, because post-orgasm Erica is so earnest).

Then they sleep. On winters, they curl around each other. "Like kittens," Allison always says, and Erica rolls her eyes (was never much of a cat lady herself). On summers, only holding hands, or merely face to face. Not quite sharing body heat, but still there.

And then they'll wake up the following day in some ridiculous position.

Yes, it's not always like this and it's not always perfect (they are both too stubborn and prideful to be like that 24/7). But the fights and the bad days are worth it for the times that it's like this.

It's a good thing that they have, that they've built; a good life. They're on their late twenties and in a good place in their lives and- not _madly in love_, they can leave that to other people. Just, deeply, strongly in it._ In it to stay._

It's good. They're good.


End file.
